


Endearing Ink

by ryulabird



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Harry is a Good Friend, Long-Distance Relationship, Slow Build, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Vampires, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryulabird/pseuds/ryulabird
Summary: In the modern world, soulmates were the focus of most people’s lives. Making contact, finding them, and then choosing their company over all others. If Jean-Claude were honest, this had always been the feeling for soulmates, even when it was an impossible dream. But in an era with the highest level of literacy the world had ever seen, as well as easily accessible ink and pens, even the poorest person had a chance to find their soulmate. It wasn’t so in the time he was born.But even in such a miraculous time, there was still one harsh truth about soulmates that no one wanted to admit. Not everyone had a soulmate. Some people could write on their skin for their whole lives and never once get a response. Jean-Claude never did, and then he died. After that, he thought soulmates would never cross his mind again, because once a soulmate died, the connection was broken forever. Except… some vampires found their soulmates long after their human lifespan had passed.This was not a good thing.





	1. Gold and Spiders

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no, what am I doing? A SoulmateAU?? A Crossover!SoulmateAU???? I have sunk below the depths, there is no hope, just leave me here to drown...
> 
> Ah, but tell me what you think! I know no one would ever have expected this! I sure didn't. Anyway, should I continue, or should I focus on my other fics? Do I even have a choice? ;^; I have no idea.  
> Merry Christmas!!

 

Jean-Claude had lived a long life without a soulmate, and he had long ago learned he was better off that way. For centuries he watched other vampires find their soulmates to be a devastating weakness, eagerly exploited by rivals and Masters both. He remembered once, as a human, how disappointed he was that no response ever appeared on his skin to his own heartfelt writing. But that feeling was far away in the past. Under his current Master, and many before her, he could never afford the weakness that a soulmate would bring. He was glad he didn’t have one.

 

Which is why, when he discovered several tiny blue flowers drawn messily on the inside of his shin, he felt a shiver of terror race down his spine. Jean-Claude had only been grateful the marks were hidden under layers of clothing until he had undressed to bathe--alone, thankfully. He had scrubbed until the flowers disappeared. However, more scribbles appeared the next day, and every day after.

 

Soon, the only thing Jean-Claude could say he liked about his soulmate, was that they at least had the sense to write in spots he could easily hide until he could wash them off. It was a rare habit in the modern world, where soulmates were widely celebrated, and people wrote all over their arms where everyone could see. Not even anything important to finding each other, just little notes, or doodles, or lists of nonsense. People flaunted their marks, sharing them with perfect strangers, so eager to reveal their connection.

 

But his soulmate, surely young enough to follow along with this trend, only ever drew in places that were easily hidden under clothing. Every night Jean-Claude would wake and rush to wash away tiny flowers, clouds, spiders, cats, and squiggles that had appeared on his thighs during the day. He scrubbed them all off and covered himself and hoped every night that his soulmate would continue to have the sense to hide their marks.

 

He never once allowed himself to wonder why his soulmate was so secretive, until nearly two years after that first mark had appeared.

 

When he rose for the night, Jean-Claude found words scrawled nastily across his stomach in the gap of his shirt-- _Freaks dont have solmates!_ He had clutched it closed and run for the bathroom, grateful that he rose so early, because the hallway was blessedly clear. After locking himself in, he had shed his clothing and started the water, and then, he had looked into the mirror.

 

Another _freak_ was written in crooked block letters across his forehead, _berk_ fell down his right cheek, while his left was a black smear. More curses and insults covered his arms, sides, and shins, and another phrase-- _freaky soulmate!_ \--took up most of his right arm.

 

For several seconds, Jean-Claude felt nothing, just empty. Then, while he watched the smear on his cheek shift and fade as if some invisible cloth were wiping it away, a cold fury filled him. He had suffered many punishments in his life, but never had he felt a violation like this. He turned to the filling bath and scrubbed himself until every filthy word was gone. Then he got dressed and went back to his room to plan.

 

Only hours later, Jean-Claude had locked himself in his office at his club, with careful instructions to his people that he be undisturbed. On his desk was a bottle of ink and a brush. He took off his boots and rolled down his pants carefully, and paused. On one exposed thigh was a long paragraph of small, frantic looking text.

 

 _I’m sorry I’m sorry sosorrysorry_ _I didn’t_ _I’mSORRy it won’t happen again! I promise Iknow I’mafreak I won’tletithapen I’msorrysorrysorrysorry…_

 

It went on and on, getting smaller and more cramped as the writer had seemingly run out of room, though much of Jean-Claude’s leg was left bare. He looked at it blankly, then reached for a drawer and pulled out some hand-wipes to erase it all. Once his skin was clean again, he picked up the brush and dipped it in the inkwell.

 

Two hours later, Jean-Claude’s thighs were covered in gold swirls and geometric designs. There were no words, he still couldn’t bring himself to do that, but he also couldn’t bring himself to do any less than this. He wasn’t the only one who had been violated after all.

 

The next night, he rose to find the designs gone, but a smiling spider on a complicated web spanning both legs had taken their place, along with _Thank you_ written shyly at the corner of his right knee.

 

* * *

 

After that event, Jean-Claude found himself pulled more and more to his soulmate’s simple drawings and messages. Clearly a child, they were still learning to write as most messages were painstakingly rounded while each letter somehow managed to tilt just enough so that every line ended curled onto its neighbor. They stuck mostly to drawings. Flowers seemed easiest for them, also, oddly, spiders, but cats and birds and trees and clouds all made the occasional appearance. Several times there were whole scenes with grass and suns with smiles. Stick figures also turned up once in awhile, always two of them, smiling and holding hands. One of them always had very messy hair, glasses, and a jagged line across the head. Jean-Claude supposed that was his soulmate, while the more plain stick figure, really just a smile on a face, was meant to be him.

 

He had wondered if it bothered his soulmate that he never wrote or drew anything back after that first time, but after a few months, and then over a year, he realized that the child must have already been used to it. Then he wondered why they never wrote to him, because though the child did write, it always seemed to be spelling practice, or stories, or reminders about schoolwork.

 

He supposed that if his soulmate didn’t expect anything back, it would make sense not to write anything personal. He certainly wouldn’t in their place. But then he wondered why they bothered to write anything at all.

 

One night, Jean-Claude found himself contemplating what he assumed to be his soulmate’s (incorrect) math homework across one thigh and a picture of a bat and a moth on the other for nearly thirty minutes before he remembered to wash them off. Then, before he dressed, he wrote down the correct sums back on his leg. He wasn’t sure why and he quickly forgot about it as he went about his business.

 

The next night, there was a drawing of the two stick figures on one thigh, and a very curly _Thank you_ and _Goodnight_ on the other. He redressed without bathing that night. It was more a luxury than a necessity after all, he could afford to skip just once.

 

Unfortunately, his failure to erase the night’s message did not go unnoticed. The night after, he rose to find his soulmate had left a question, the very first between them.

 

_Do you want to draw yourself?_

 

He was certain that this wasn’t some subtle dig for information--his soulmate was too young for such machinations. More likely, the child merely wanted his stick figure to be more accurate, or they wanted to engage him in some game. Either way, Jean-Claude found himself stuck. Thus far, he had largely been ignoring his soulmate’s marks. Only twice had he even given any sign that he was receiving them. But a question was a very different sort of contact than drawings of spiders, or notes on homework.

 

Jean-Claude thought back to the night he had found curses and insults covering his skin, and the hundreds of nights before that where his soulmate had likely thought they might be drawing for no one but themself. He thought about the desperate _sorrys,_ and the suns with smiles, and the stick figures holding hands. He remembered once, when he was still alive, thinking how lucky he was to be taken into a noble’s manor because he would be allowed to use ink, and he remembered writing on himself for years and years before he finally stopped.

 

He was pulling out a pen he had taken to carrying around in his pocket before he could convince himself to stop.

 

 _No_ . Jean-Claude wrote, then paused and added, _I prefer your drawings_. That should be enough to prevent more solicitation, without being cruel. He mustn’t forget how young his soulmate was.

 

But if he really thought his soulmate would return to simple drawings after finally getting a written response, he was quickly corrected.

 

_What is your favorit animal? Do you like clouds? What is your favorit colour? Do you like maths?_

 

Night after night, Jean-Claude would find a new drawing and a new question, both on the same leg while the other was left suggestively blank. He was wrong to ever think his soulmate too young to be manipulative. He never replied beyond correcting words spelled wrong more than once. After his corrections, he noticed his soulmate never made the same mistake again. They also never stopped asking questions.

 

After several weeks of ignoring them, his soulmate finally seemed to decide he must be shy and began telling him about themself.

 

 _My name is Harry. I’m seven._ They wrote one night. _I like cats better than dogs. My favorite colour is green. Clouds are bril, exept when it rains. I like drawing. Maths are alright. I don’t like dirt, or mud, or stones. Trees are fun._

 

For weeks his soulmate, Harry, drew all his favorite and least favorite things with happy or sad faces, and each drawing was accompanied by a new piece of information. All of it terribly personal by a child’s standards, but incredibly vague as far as Jean-Claude was concerned. He nearly pressed the boy for more specific information before stopping himself. It didn’t matter what his soulmate looked like, or where he lived, or what his last name was, after all, any more than what his favorite color was.

 

So he continued to ignore his soulmate, even as he slowly learned more and more about him. Harry was in primary school, he liked reading for class but never went to the library. He did his homework at night, just before bed. He wasn’t afraid of spiders, he knew how to cook, clean, and garden. He greatly disliked dogs, and though he liked cats better, he preferred birds over everything.

 

Those were the things Harry told him, but Jean-Claude was drawing his own conclusions from what the boy did not say. He didn’t mention any friends, or what family he had. He didn’t have a favorite food, or favorite game. Everything Harry liked best were things he could watch from afar, or do by himself. He didn’t talk about school beyond what homework he was working on at the time. Put together with the attack the year before, Jean-Claude wasn’t sure he liked the picture he was getting.

 

The boy’s constant optimism in writing to him was unnerving in that context. Because, as dark as Jean-Claude believed his soulmate’s life to be, Harry himself always wrote and drew as cheerfully as any normal child should. The thought that perhaps he was the only person to pay his soulmate any attention was not a comfortable one.

 

It became a little harder to erase the marks without writing back after such a realization. Jean-Claude found himself collecting pens and markers, keeping them in his office, hidden away in the lining of his coffin, and carefully tucked into his pockets. But he still never did more than correct the boy’s homework and spelling mistakes. Luckily, Harry was much braver than he.

 

 _Is there anything you like?_ _You can tell me whatever you want, I won’t show anyone._

 

Jean-Claude had stared at the words for a long time after he uncovered them. On his other leg was a more refined stick figure, Harry, with clothes and a wide grin, hands raised and waving at him. It was humbling how trusting his soulmate could still be after years of neglect. He finished his bath as usual, but wrote nothing in return. All night though, he kept thinking back to the marks, regretting his cowardice.

 

It wasn’t until he was readying himself for the dawn that he retreated to the bathroom. While he waited for the sun to steal his breath, he could feel the words under his clothes burning, but found he didn’t regret it at all.

 

_I like blackberries._

 

 


	2. Presents and Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! 
> 
> Thank you all for such an amazing response to this silly idea! Who knew so many people would like Jean-Claude and Harry soulmates? ♡^♡ Thanks guys!!

 

They settled into a new pattern. Harry would continue to send increasingly sophisticated drawings and pleasant ramblings about himself, and Jean-Claude would correct spelling, offer a compliment or two, and tell the boy something about himself that was… safe. It was always true, of course, what he wrote. But most of it came from the life he’d lived as a human. His favorite foods, the color of fish splashing in a pond, the warmth of grass in the sun. All pleasant, enjoyable memories from a life long since past.

 

Jean-Claude had thought Harry to be a happy, outgoing child before, always so cheerful even when his soulmate almost never responded. But that was nothing compared to his enthusiasm after Jean-Claude finally began writing back every night. He wanted to know about everything Jean-Claude told him--what catching fish was like, how sweet were blackberries really--and he offered back a thousand times as much as Jean-Claude gave.

 

_We got to watch a movie in class today, it was bril! Do you like movies?_

 

_I got full marks on my test! Thanks for helping me study!_

 

_Today the teacher’s hair turned blue, it was wicked!_

 

_I think I like cats less now. My neighbor has too many._

 

It was...pleasant...to wake each night and read what Harry had done or seen that day which he found important enough to share. Rather than feeling guilty about not sharing the events of his own nights, Jean-Claude actually regretted that nothing he did seemed either interesting or appropriate to share with a child. Certainly he couldn’t tell Harry about his business, or the errands his Master sent him on.

 

And he could never tell Harry what he was. Vampires weren’t supposed to have soul mates after all.

 

Thankfully, just responding so Harry knew he was paying attention seemed to be enough. After several weeks of trading simple likes and dislikes, the boy began telling him about his day, about his dreams, about his thoughts. Because of this, Jean-Claude soon learned more about his soulmate’s home life that he didn’t like.

 

Harry had never received a present, never celebrated his birthday--he didn’t even know when his birthday was! But he knew what birthdays were supposed to be like because his cousin had a big one every year. He didn’t like Christmas. But he knew why everyone else his age loved it.

 

Yet Harry didn’t mind any of that because he already had the best soulmate in the world.

 

Jean-Claude almost couldn’t bear not to write back on some nights. No matter the risk of the marks being seen. He understood better now why soulmates were such a devastating weakness in his world.

 

He offered advice whenever he could. Where to look for a birth certificate at school, how to tell when someone was lying, what to look for in a good hiding place. Things a child shouldn’t have to learn, but which Harry had already begun to figure out on his own before Jean-Claude started helping him. The most helpful advice though, was definitely looking for paper files, and he’ll never forget how excited his soulmate had been then.

 

_31 JULY!!! MY BIRTHDAY!!_

 

Harry had drawn a little figure of himself jumping all around his leg, with dozens of excited squiggles coming out of its hands. Jean-Claude couldn’t remember seeing anything as adorable before in his life.

 

_So you’ll be eight in four months. Congratulations!_

 

For weeks afterward, all Harry wanted to talk about suddenly was birthdays. What he’d seen of his cousin’s--invariably followed by _but I can’t do that_ \--what he heard other children talk about at school--he’d never been invited however--and what he wanted to do for his.

 

_I wish we could have a party, just the two of us!_

 

Jean-Claude’s eyes went soft as he admired Harry’s picture of their stick figures playing in a tree with flags and ornaments hanging everywhere.

 

 _Don’t you want cake?_ He wrote back without erasing anything, a new, dangerous habit, but the drawing was too wonderful to be rid of yet.

 

 _Yeah! Chocolate!_ A large, messily scribbled in cake was added to the base of the tree. _I scraped some off a plate once--it’s REALLY GOOD!!_

 

Jean-Claude frowned when he read that night’s message. But he replied with agreement and a suggestion of presents. _A mountain of presents._ He even drew a few ribboned boxes beside the cake to encourage his soulmate.

 

He wasn’t disappointed. The next night, Harry had drawn more boxes with bows, and endless laughter coming from their playing figures.

 

* * *

 

After a couple years of trading information with his soulmate, Jean-Claude had a fairly good idea of where the boy lived. Perhaps not the precise location, and he would never ask, but the country he could guess. They were far enough away that, between Harry’s school and need for sleep, and Jean-Claude’s hours confined to the night, they had never managed to send messages while the other was available.

 

At least, that was how it was supposed to be. Until one night, when Jean-Claude had some time free at his club and had decided to write to Harry early. He had just finished penning a recommendation for a children’s book he had found, when letters he did not write blossomed into existence just below his kneecap.

 

_Good Morning!_

 

Jean-Claude froze, and watched as a circle grew and then slowly transformed into another one of Harry’s smiling suns. He knew, of course, that the transfer of ink between soulmates’ skins was instantaneous, but he never imagined the startling feeling that could come with seeing it happen. His soulmate was awake, and they were connected. It was amazing.

 

Lines began radiating out from the sun, curving across his thigh, but respectfully disappearing just as they reached his own message. Jean-Claude shook his head, he shouldn’t waste such an opportunity.

 

_Shouldn’t you be in school by now?_

 

He nearly cursed himself for such an admonishment. Harry deserved more than scolding for their first real conversation. But, a response was already writing out before Jean-Claude could add anything.

 

_No, I don’t today. I get to stay home sick!_

 

A beaming smile was drawn under and around the word ‘sick.’ Jean-Claude didn't trust it. He had learned that Harry had a habit of over emphasizing signs of happiness when he was anything but. The sun was one thing, but a smiling face around a word was too much.

 

_Are you well?_

 

Hesitation for one long minute, then _I’m alright. What are you doing?_

 

Prevarication from Harry was another bad sign. Jean-Claude wrote quickly.

 

_Nothing important. May I ask what you are sick with?_

 

_Flu!_

 

_Oh my, is it bad?_

 

 _Yeah, it’s the worst!_ A very sad face with crossed eyes finished the sentence.

 

_Oh dear. Perhaps you should be sleeping then._

 

_No! It’s okay!_

 

Jean-Claude sighed. Harry was adorable, but far too easy. Although, that could just be because they were soulmates.

 

_I wouldn’t want to exhaust you and make you worse._

 

_No! I’m okay you're not exhausting!!_

 

_I appreciate it, but I don’t want you to miss more school because of me._

 

_I'm not going to miss school because of you!_

 

_So you’ll be well enough to attend tomorrow?_

 

No response appeared for a long time, but Jean-Claude could see tiny dots appearing on his skin, as if a nervous pen was tapping upon his leg.

 

_Harry?_

 

_I’m not going to school tomorrow._

 

_How do you know?_

 

_Cause I won’t be able to for a week, at least._

 

Jean-Claude frowned. He was about to write ‘why?’ when the writing began to wash away. Harry was erasing everything. While he stared in shock, the quick cleaning finished and new words began to appear at the top of his right thigh.

 

_I had to get rescued from the school rooftop. Everyone’s furious with me. So, no school._

 

There were a number of things wrong with Harry’s wording. Jean-Claude had the suspicion that Harry was trying to get him to draw certain conclusions without outright telling him. Which, with Harry, meant that he was trying to get him to believe something that wasn’t true, without lying. Direct questions would be the only way to get the truth.

 

_Did you climb onto the roof?_

 

A slow to appear _‘no’_ followed his question almost sullenly. One down.

 

_Did the school suspend you?_

 

Another tiny _‘no’_ appeared. That made two.

 

 _Are you being punished?_ This was a tricky question. Jean-Claude was very certain from what he knew of Harry, that the boy was punished fairly often, but he didn’t know quite how. His soulmate was remarkably stubborn about not sharing anything bad about his life. Jean-Claude could relate.

 

Finally, after a much longer wait than previously, a small _‘yes’_ appeared, but it was quickly joined by _‘it’s nothing bad though! I’m just really bored! That’s why I wanted to talk to you!’_

 

_Please tell me what happened._

 

It was a little unfair to use the word ‘please.’ Harry was incredibly susceptible to it--at least, he was when Jean-Claude used it. He had no idea if the boy responded the same when others said it to him. Of course, he wasn’t certain if anyone else even said ‘please’ to his soulmate at all. But, in any case, the magic word worked its wonders on Harry, and soon he was slowly writing out the whole tale--up to a point anyway.

 

_I was trying to jump on the bin behind the school, I wanted to hide from Dud and his gang, but somehow when I jumped I landed on the roof! I told everyone I thought the wind caught me, but no one believed me! The firemen had to come with a huge ladder, and there was a big fuss, and I got grounded. But I really, REALLY didn’t climb up there!_

 

Jean-Claude tapped his chin thoughtfully. _‘Dud,’_ he knew was the boy’s cousin, and Jean-Claude suspected he and his friends were the culprits behind the writing attack that galvanized his contact with Harry. Given the frequency of Dud’s mention in Harry’s messages, he knew they must either live together, or very close by. He also knew that Harry hid only as a means to protect himself--he had never been invited to play hide-and-seek. And Harry knew better than to draw attention to himself when he was hiding, as well as not to get stuck somewhere. But more important right now was...

 

_Why are you being kept out of school?_

 

 _I’m grounded_ was Harry’s flippant answer.

 

_Yes, but you should still attend school. You will miss a great deal of material._

 

_I catch up alright._

 

Jean-Claude paused as he let the implications of that statement settle in his mind. He knew that Harry was an intelligent child. Once corrected, Harry never repeated a mistake, or forgot anything. But the boy’s knowledge and understanding of much of his schoolwork was riddled with holes, and Jean-Claude could recall only one instance when Harry received good marks on a test. He had thought that perhaps Harry simply wasn’t interested in school or learning, so he might not be paying attention in class.

 

If Harry wasn’t attending classes though, that would explain the many gaps in his education.

 

_Are you often kept out of school when you are punished?_

 

Jean-Claude had never much cared one way or the other for the modern view of child abuse. In his time, and for most of his life, children were little more than their parents’ property--to be treated well or badly, sold, used, and even destroyed at the whim of their guardians. He survived it, as did many others. Those who did not were merely unlucky. In the modern world though, just speaking harshly to a child was considered abusive, and keeping them from certain things--food, health care, school--could actually be illegal. Frivolous concerns to one who had seen first hand how disposable children once were to society. But the realization that _his_ soulmate was, in fact, a child, and that he wanted often for affection, food, even the basic schooling that was now standard in many countries….

 

_Not really. I don’t mind being alone, and you help me, so it’s really fine!_

 

He couldn’t help but curse his helplessness. Harry deserved far better than he was given, but Jean-Claude couldn’t offer him any better. He could only write in secret, as if his soulmate was something shameful, and he never shared more than he felt he had to, out of fear of being discovered. Yet Harry never complained.

 

He deserved better than a vampire for a soulmate.

 

_Very well. When you get a chance, there’s a book I think you might enjoy…_

 

 

 


	3. Scribbles and Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the comments and likes and bookmarks!! I go all warm and squishy with every notification from you guys! Thank you!!

  
  


The first time Harry ever argued with Jean-Claude was nearly five years after those first tiny blue flowers his soulmate had ever sent him. Over three years after Jean-Claude covered his legs in gold ink. 

 

Harry had been less excitable for days after his ninth birthday. He made fewer drawings, he wrote very little about his day, and when Jean-Claude sought to engage the child, he only got vague responses. It was strangely unsettling. Then, out of nowhere, Harry scribbled over some suggestions Jean-Claude had made for Harry’s book report, and said he didn’t need any help.

 

Jean-Claude was speechless and out of sorts for the rest of the night. Then, when Harry refused to either apologize or reply to Jean-Claude’s concerned query the next night, he became frustrated as well. Since when was his soulmate so contentious? What happened to the ever-sweet boy with cheerful drawings, eager to share stories from his day?

 

Unfortunately, Harry’s poor mood continued, and nothing Jean-Claude wrote did anything to improve it. After a week of increasingly sullen one word responses from Harry, Jean-Claude finally lost his patience. He had tried to entice Harry into telling him what was wrong, for surely  _ something _ must be for the boy to go through such a drastic personality change. But Harry had wiped off all Jean-Claude’s words and scrawled out an angry  _ ‘nothing! leave me alone!’ _ and that was the last straw. 

 

_ If you no longer wish to speak with me, the least you could do is tell me so. _

 

Jean-Claude regretted his message as he lay down for dawn, thinking it might be too harsh. But the next night revealed an even angrier, utterly brattish reply in return.

 

_ Fine! I don’t care! You never wanted to talk to me anyway! _

 

There were also numerous smudges all over Jean-Claude’s legs, and the words that were still legible had been written over multiple times. And underlined. It took some thorough scrubbing to get everything off, and Jean-Claude couldn’t stop wondering why Harry hadn’t erased what he didn’t want seen, as well as wondering how hard the boy had used the pen on himself. Once he was clean, he wrote out a simple assurance that he  _ did _ want to speak with Harry, as well as questioning why his soulmate believed otherwise. 

 

Jean-Claude found a response later that night when he gave into the impulse to try writing to Harry again.

 

_ You never wanted to talk at all!! You're older than me andyouneverevenwroteWORDS! FOR YEARS!! _

 

Jean-Claude blinked down at the angry accusation across his thigh, and noticed that his own words had again been scribbled out rather than erased. Harry had never once given any indication that Jean-Claude’s silence ever bothered him. Jean-Claude had assumed it didn’t. He should have known better.

 

_ I am deeply sorry. I should have spoken to you from the first, I wish that I had. But I do not- _

 

Furious scribbles attacked his letters, starting where his pen was writing before moving back over the previous ones. Jean-Claude pulled his hand away and stared in shock.

 

_ I’m sorry- _ he tried to write, before scribbles blocked that out as well. 

 

Jean-Claude felt a burning grip tighten around his heart, sending blood pounding through his skull like a drum. A moment later, his legs were an inky battleground as he tried again and again to apologize, while his soulmate tried to cover every inch of skin with fierce black scratches. A dozen _sorry_ s and _please_ s were quickly overwhelmed, and there was simply no room left to write. But rather than reaching for a wet towel to wipe it off and keep trying, Jean-Claude frantically pushed up his sleeve and wrote on his arm.

 

_ Please Harry! Please! I want to talk with you! I am so sorry I didn’t before, but I swear I will not ignore you again! _

 

Jean-Claude was actually surprised he managed to write out so much, and he waited with baited breath for Harry to cover it up. Yet nothing happened.

 

After waiting several minutes more, Jean-Claude calmed enough to clean off his legs. He wondered if maybe Harry hadn’t yet seen the message. They never wrote anywhere but their thighs after all.

 

_ Harry?  _

 

Jean-Claude waited again. Nothing. Had the boy covered up and gone to school? No, it was a Sunday, and summer break besides. He needed to stop panicking.

 

_ I am sorry Harry, I never meant to hurt you. Please don’t ignore me. _

 

A wavering black line appeared and curled into  _ Im not _ before trailing away.

 

_ I’m sorry _ Jean-Claude wrote again, as many times as it would take to be believed.

 

_ why didn’t you? _ appeared quickly, before Jean-Claude had even finished writing.

 

_ Why didn’t I what? _

 

_ write _

 

Jean-Claude closed his eyes in pain. He wasn’t ready for this, but he wasn’t ready to lose Harry either.

 

_ I was afraid _

 

_ of me? _

 

_ No, and yes.  _ That wouldn’t be good enough for Harry, and yes, already a dark line was breaking apart into a demand to know what that meant.

 

_ It is not safe for me to have a soulmate, I did not want anything to happen. _

 

A long pause followed, then,  _ are you someplace bad? _

 

Jean-Claude laughed harshly. The modern world was such a paradise for skin linked soulmates. No one now could imagine the persecution such a mysterious phenomenon might face in a less understanding society. Or in a vicious one.

 

_ Yes _ . 

 

He couldn’t explain more than that. Telling Harry what he was would lose him for certain. No matter how gentle the world had become toward soulmates, it still had no kindness to spare for vampires.

 

_ but you write now _

 

_ Yes. I will always write to you. _

 

_ liar _

 

Jean-Claude blinked, not sure he read that right. But Harry was far from over.

 

_ you never tell me about yourself. you tell me stuff to read, or things you remember, or you help me with homework. but you NEVER write about what YOU like, or what you’re doing, or anything important! You never even told me YOUR NAME!!! _

 

Oh no. No, no, that couldn’t be right. Jean-Claude always focused on whatever Harry talked about, yes, and he was secretive about his own life, true, but  _ surely  _ he had given the boy a name to call him! But he couldn't recall ever doing so, and Harry had never asked him. Harry never asked him for anything. He offered Jean-Claude everything, thanked him for what he was given, but never asked for more. No, no, no, no, no!

 

_ I am sorry, Harry, I never wanted you to be hurt. Please believe that. _

 

_ You’re an adult! How can you be this stupid! _

 

_...How do you know I’m an adult? _

 

_ Because I’M NOT stupid! _

 

Jean-Claude wasn’t sure if this was going well, or not.

 

_ are you ever going to tell me your name? _

 

His soulmate’s writing was still fast and sharply angled, but he was writing again.

 

_ Call me Jean. _

 

_ “call you”??? is that even your name?  _

 

Ah, so his soulmate was suspicious now? That was new.

 

_ Yes, Harry, it is!  _

 

_ so you’re a girl? _

 

Jean-Claude rolled his eyes, relieved and fond and just a tad exasperated.

 

_ It is pronounced ‘Jon’ and it is a boy’s name. _

 

_ Thanks for telling me. Finally. _

 

Jean-Claude snorted. He didn’t know if he would always like this waspish attitude from Harry, but for now it was an improvement over the previous week. It was even sort of cute--Harry had drawn a pouting face with steam coming out of its ears.

 

_ I should have told you earlier. I am truly sorry, for everything. _

 

_ It’s alright. Make sure you wash off your arm, I can’t today.  _

 

So he had seen the message on his arm.

 

_ Are you well? _

 

_ Grounded again. My hair grew back too fast. _

 

That didn’t make much sense, but from what Harry told him, his guardians came up with all manner of excuses to punish him.

 

_ I see. _ Jean-Claude hesitated, but he had to know if he had done something specific to set Harry off, or if the boy had simply been holding his frustrations in until he couldn't.  _ May I ask why you stopped writing before? I know it is ultimately my fault-- _

 

_ It’s NOT your fault! I didn’t mean what I said! _

 

_ No, Harry, I do keep a great deal from you. It is to keep us both safe, but I never explained anything to you, and I kept more from you than I should have. You have every right to be angry. _

 

Harry didn’t respond for a long time, but Jean-Claude forced himself to be patient. The boy was only nine, but he was right--he wasn’t stupid, and Jean-Claude needed to remember that.

 

_ it’s not fair, you acting all adult NOW, after everything's over _

 

_ Perhaps I am trying to set a good example. _

 

_ HA! Good try! _ A wildly laughing face appeared at the end, and Jean-Claude was overjoyed to see Harry’s messy hair, glasses, and jagged scar added to it.

 

_ Truly though, I would like to know what prompted this. I also want you to know that you may always tell me if you are unhappy with me. I will always wish to talk with you Harry. _

 

_ God, you’re so unfair  _ Harry scribbled out that response nearly as soon as he finished, smudging the letters and likely hoping Jean-Claude hadn't seen it. It seemed his soulmate was embarrassed. Jean-Claude would have to be more earnest in his messages from now on, if it resulted in such an adorable response from Harry.

 

_ it’s really not your fault though… it’s Dudders, he got to meet his soulmate last week. they’ve only been writing for a couple of months _

 

A few lines and everything suddenly made sense. Guilt was a hard thing to swallow.

 

_ Some people are lucky to have soulmates born close to them, _ Jean-Claude wrote neutrally.

 

_ we’re not close, are we? _

 

_ No, I’m afraid we are not _

 

_ you can’t tell me… _

 

_ No. I am sorry. _

 

Jean-Claude’s heart ached when Harry stopped writing. He hated, more than anything, that his weakness cursed not just himself, but his soulmate as well, to a life of only cautious pleasure.

 

_ I understand _ , Harry wrote unexpectedly,  _ it’s not really safe here either _

 

And suddenly, Jean-Claude found there  _ was  _ something he hated even more. 

 

_ When I grow up, I’ll be strong enough to keep both of us safe _

 

The cold rage that was building in Jean-Claude’s chest fell back under the rush of warmth that spread through him when he read his Harry’s promise. Such a sweet child his soulmate was.

 

_ I should be the one protecting you _

 

_ No you’ve been alone a long time. I’ve always had you--I’ll take care of everything! _

 

_ Is that so? _

 

_ Yep! I’ll figure it all out! so you just stay safe, I’m alright here, and we’ll meet when I can help, okay? _

 

Jean-Claude let his hand rest upon the words, as if he could feel the warmth from Harry’s skin beneath the ink, instead of his own coolness. Truly, he did not deserve a soulmate as kind as this, and Harry deserved far better than a vampire who would only bring him suffering. But he couldn’t let go, anymore easily than he could walk into the dawn.

 

_ Okay _ he promised, both to Harry and to himself. He would find a way, any way, to change his life, and gain the freedom he needed to have Harry safely by his side.

 


	4. Ink and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember that you fools asked for this!
> 
> Also, I don't have anymore now, so next update is going to be a while. Tell me what you think of this and wish me luck!

  


As Jean-Claude grew ever more attached to his soulmate, he had a harder time letting go of the words connecting them. He had known from the first marks between them, that he had to keep them hidden, but to erase them entirely slowly became a more painful task. So of course, it was only a matter of time before someone saw them.

 

He was in his office when Robert came in without knocking, a worried look on his face.

 

“Jean-Claude!” Robert strode up to the desk wringing his hands. “Theresa is here. She says she was sent to collect you.”

 

Jean-Claude suppressed a shiver. Theresa only did their _Master’s_ bidding.

 

“Did she say why?” he asked. The last time he had been summoned at such an odd hour, it was so he could be gifted to a visiting master and her retinue.

 

“No,” Robert shook his head, “only that she did not wish to keep our Master waiting.”

 

“Tell her I will be out in a moment,” Jean-Claude gestured at the papers and bank book covering his desk. Robert gave him a concerned look, but went back out without question.

 

He could only guess at what Nikolaos wanted him for, but to be summoned in the middle of the night with no warning… It would not be for anything good. Jean-Claude shuffled his papers to put away and reached for a pen. Harry should be awake by now, likely getting ready for the day in fact. He sighed, then pushed up his sleeve.

 

_Do not write ANYTHING to me until I tell you it is safe!_

 

Harry would be worried, but that was better than what would happen if Nikolaos saw marks forming on his body. He could only hope his soulmate would do as asked. The boy was much less obedient now than he used to be.

 

While Jean-Claude didn’t know whether Harry would listen or not, the boy _did_ at least see the message. Jean-Claude smiled grimly as the words began to erase and pulled his sleeve down. That was all he could do for now, with any luck, his Master would be done with him quickly.

 

But when he arrived at the Circus, he discovered that matters were much worse than he thought. She _knew_.

 

“Oh, my sweet Jean!” Nikolaos cooed as her minions bound him to the wall of one of the Circus’s many cells. “You collect so many pens these days, did you think no one would notice? That no one would catch you writing on yourself in the bath?”

 

Jean-Claude said nothing, because there was nothing that could help him. Anton and Theresa were smirking viciously behind Nikolaos as she spun laughing before him. Various others of Nikolaos’ court were arranged around the room, eager for his punishment to commence. Burchard closed the last lock on his ankle and stepped back to his Master’s side.

 

“Our dear Jean-Claude has been gifted with a soulmate!” Nikolaos turned to the crowd with a cheerful grin. “To be so blessed by Heaven, we should congratulate them both, shouldn’t we?”

 

Cruel laughter rang out while Nikolaos stepped before him, still smiling. She reached out and casually ripped his shirt off, her nails catching and tearing his skin on the way. Jean-Claude did his best not to react. Then she pulled out a marker and started writing, while the others waited behind her, holding their own pens and markers.

 

For three nights Jean-Claude was kept there, available for anyone to use and write on as they wished. The second night was surely the worst, because much of what was left on him had vanished the previous day as he and most of Nikolaos’ court slept, so his tormentors took it as an opportunity to do and write worse. He did his best to ignore it all, but by the fourth night of his punishment Nikolaos was annoyed.

 

“Honestly!” Nikolaos poked him hard enough to bruise as she inspected the many vicious words scrawled all over his body. There were dozens of lacerations and spots of dried blood obscuring some of the worst messages. But his Master’s ire stemmed largely from the fact that not one message she could see was from his soulmate. “Doesn’t your perfect match care at _all_ , Jean-Claude?” she asked frostily. “They must see what we’ve done to you.”

 

She contemplated Jean-Claude’s battered body sourly. “Perhaps they don’t care for you, Jean-Claude,” Nikolaos said slowly.

 

Jean-Claude didn’t respond, but his Master hadn’t expected him to, not after his silence through the worst of his punishment.

 

“Or perhaps…” Nikolaos giggled suddenly, and looked up at him through her lashes. “Perhaps they are dead now?”

 

Harry had stopped erasing the awful words that were written on their linked skin two days ago, and Jean-Claude had only seen that happen to a vampire in his position when the worst had occurred. He tried to remain unmoved, but his heart still stuttered just loud enough to send Nikolaos twirling and giggling in delight.

 

“Oh! Perhaps, perhaps!” she chanted. Then she paused with a hand on her hip and a curious frown on her brow. “Do you suppose mortals still burn the soulmates of vampires? Or would they use some modern method of execution?”

 

This time, Jean-Claude couldn’t stop himself from flinching. He knew what a horrible mistake he had made. He should have told Harry to run away, to hide, anything but just _Don’t write!_ Because he knew the boy’s family _was_ cruel enough to turn him into the Church and, however kind it was now to soulmates, no religion would _ever_ be kind to vampires. Or, by proxy, to any sign that vampires might still possess souls.

 

Nikolaos laughed, high and gleeful. “Poor Jean’s soulmate is dead-dead- _dead!”_ she sang, and smiled up at him. “It’s _so_ very sad. Should we hold a funeral for them?”

 

Jean-Claude jerked in his bindings, finally meeting his Master’s gaze. “No--Please-!” he begged, but Nikolaos only laughed.

 

“No, no, dear Jean-Claude!” she waved back at her Servant and Theresa. They came forward and unlocked Jean-Claude from the wall. “It is a tragedy to lose one’s soulmate! We must mourn for them!”

 

Laughter and hard hands were the only answer to Jean-Claude’s pleading as he was dragged to the coffin room. His Master’s pinched sneer was the last thing he saw before the lid closed on him. He wept silently as he listened to the silver chains and crosses knock against the wood as they locked him away in the dark.

 

* * *

 

It was easy to lose track of time in the coffin, but even he could tell it was not so long before Nikolaos was again pulling him out. He was forced to his knees while his body was carefully inspected. There was no new writing, and all the callous words from before he entered the coffin were still there. Jean-Claude felt a part of him die at the sight, but Nikolaos appeared pleased.

 

“Oh, our poor, dear Jean-Claude,” she whispered tenderly as she caressed his face. “How terrible for you.”

 

His Master patted his head, then spun around and skipped to the door. “Let him wash and go back to his club,” she said with a giggle. “I’m sure he would like to be alone.” Nikolaos laughed happily as she left with her Servant and a few others invited to his release.

 

Jean-Claude remained on the floor, staring at nothing, until long after the last of his observers had gone. Whether they had stayed to torment him further, or offer condolences he didn’t know. He didn’t hear anything they said. It was as if the world had dimmed after coming out of the coffin, everything was muffled and he couldn’t feel anything but an aching numbness. It reminded him of the time long ago, when Belle had locked him away, only to bring him out years later to a world where Asher hated him.

 

He passed through the halls silently and made it to his room unmolested. It would be best to clean himself quickly and leave for his club before dawn. No one would expect him back at the Circus for days, so he could sleep in the club’s basement and avoid those who would happily add to his suffering. At Guilty Pleasures, his own people would keep the Master’s minions at bay.

 

Washing the blood off his slowly healing skin was easy compared to the ink smeared across him in vicious letters. He suspected many of the pens used had been those ‘permanent markers’ he had seen in stores. Soulmates often used them to make temporary tattoos on their skin, marks intended to be kept for days before they wore away. He hated to think that _these_ words were the last his sweet Harry had ever seen, that the boy died with no words of love or comfort upon him, but only the most hideous of curses and threats.

 

Jean-Claude scrubbed until his skin was raw and sore. He kept scrubbing until he thought it might start to bleed again, until he couldn’t see any ink at all. Even then, he simply emptied the tub and refilled it, to scrub himself again, until he finally felt clean.

 

Eventually, he was as clean as it was possible for him to be, even his bruises and scrapes were slowly fading away. Jean-Claude knew he would need to feed soon, to regain his strength and heal faster. He was lucky, truly, that he hadn’t been locked away very long--surely no more than a week or two--or he would have needed to depend on his Master to secure him food and see that he recovered properly.

 

A part of him wished he hadn’t been let out. If release brought with it such terrible news, it might have been better to stay in the dark until his mind faded to madness. But that was exactly why Nikolaos had let him out so quickly. If he were less aware, the pain from realizing his soulmate was dead would have been numbed.

 

Jean-Claude moved quickly once he was dressed, and no one stopped him as he left the Circus, though many watched as he walked by. He was not the first vampire their Master had punished for having a soulmate, and he would not be the last, but he was likely the oldest any had witnessed. Perhaps they were wondering who the next would be.

 

Guilty Pleasures was a noisy, restless balm for the cold ache in Jean-Claude’s heart. The crowd was a warm feast for his neglected arduer, and one of his dancers was an eager feast for his bloodlust. He left the young man unconscious in Robert’s care, then locked himself in his office, to be alone until sunrise.

 

Five years was all he had with his soulmate, and they never met. Jean-Claude hadn’t even been brave enough to write for all those years-- _no!_ He had been a coward, and now it was too late. Too late to change things and too late to regret.

 

Jean-Claude reached for the drawer and began collecting pens, markers, everything he had foolishly bought but never used to write to his soulmate. Bright colors and felt tips, all of it meant to impress and delight someone he would never see, all of it wasted. At the back of the last drawer, he found the bottle of gold ink he _had_ used, the only gift he had given to the one sharing his skin. He had used most of the ink back then, and what little was left had dried up.

 

He had meant once, when he was still a living man, to write sweet poems and sonnets to his soulmate in the most beautiful colored inks he could buy. Memories of that long-forgotten wish had convinced him to buy this single bottle of gold ink, back when he had finally resolved himself to writing back to his mysterious young soulmate. But he hadn’t written, had he? He only drew useless, empty designs for a child who needed so much more from him than he was willing to give.

 

The small bottle shattered, sending glass and dark gold dust in a starburst across the carpet where Jean-Claude threw it. The rest of the pens were tossed no less spitefully into the trash. All he kept was the black ink and dip pens he used for work. Suddenly exhausted, he went to the chaise lounge beside his desk and fell upon it, curling up and covering his face with an arm.

 

He would have stayed that way for the remainder of the night, huddling beneath the weight of his regret until dawn called him to his coffin, but the sharp scent of ink drove him back up. He thought he had washed it all away!

 

Jean-Claude sat up to glare at the mess on the floor, yet the dust had no scent to it, no...this was fresh ink he smelled. He must have broken one of the pens when he threw them away.

 

However, the scent was fainter by the trash, in fact it all but disappeared when Jean-Claude had sat up. When he sat back down he checked to see if a stray pen had fallen in between the cushions, or under the chaise, but he found nothing. Eventually, he decided he must have imagined it and lay back, this time turning so he might cradle his head in his arms.

 

He could smell ink again. Jean-Claude jumped up and strode for the door. It was _on_ him, he must have missed some when he bathed earlier! He had to wash it off.

 

The club was closing, and dancers, stagehands, and waiters were hurrying through the hallway as they cleaned up, but they all moved aside as Jean-Claude strode past. Another of his human employees was cleaning the restroom when he entered, but the woman quickly raced out upon seeing him.

 

Jean-Claude turned the faucet on and pushed up his sleeves to wash them, but what he found was nothing that had been on him an hour ago. Nothing his tormentors would have drawn on him.

 

Tiny black dots formed an incredibly tiny circle just near the bend of his elbow, and many more tiny dots formed a faint trail down his arm away from the circle. As Jean-Claude watched, another dot was added to the end of the line, only an inch or so from his wrist.

 

A gasp built up in his chest and burst out of his mouth as a sob. Jean-Claude felt what strength he had leave him in a rush and collapsed to his knees. He watched another tiny dot appear, and counting them, he realized they were marking the minutes since he had his bath and washed everything else away.

 

In the space of a breath, Jean-Claude was up and running for his office again. He nearly collided with the poor cleaning woman waiting outside, as well as several other of his employees, but he made it and again locked himself in. Rushing for the trash bin, he spilled most of it out digging for a pen and then he was writing on his arm below those incredible, impossible dots.

 

 _Harry? Are you there?_ Jean-Claude held his breath, but nothing appeared, not even another dot. Oh! _It is safe to write now, I promise._

 

 _are you alright?_ Harry’s handwriting came slowly, each letter cautiously rounded and perfectly straight.

 

Jean-Claude wept to see it and had to hold a hand over his mouth to quiet his sobs.

 

 _I am. I am so sorry Harry._ What could he possibly say? What explanation could he give for what had happened? He would rather talk about Harry. _Are you alright?_

 

_I’m okay, nothing happened to me_

 

Jean-Claude didn’t believe that.

 

_Why did you stop washing the words off?_

 

 _because that only made things worse!!_ Harry wrote quickly, and underlined ‘worse’ twice. _besides, I couldn’t use the shower! are you SURE you’re safe now?_

 

 _I am, truly._ Jean-Claude wasn’t, would never be, but Harry didn’t need to know that right now. _I am sorry. May I ask why you couldn’t bathe?_

 

 _got grounded,_ Harry wrote out, adding a drawing of himself inside some sort of box with a narrow window. _everybody really freaked out_

 

That didn’t sound good… _What happened?_

 

 _shouldn’t you be telling me?_ Another little drawing of Harry, frowning with arms crossed.

 

Jean-Claude sat back with a sigh and looked around. His floor was a mess, his sleeves were damp and wrinkled, and he needed to wash his face. But Harry was still alive and still contrary. It was oddly wonderful.

 

 _I am not certain I should,_ Jean-Claude finally wrote out, _not until I know how badly you were affected._

 

He grabbed a couple more pens and went over to his desk for his hand wipes before Harry could respond. He took everything over to the chaise and arranged himself comfortably. There was only an hour until dawn, so he had very little time to plan with his soulmate.

 

 _are you kidding??_ Harry had replied, and he did not appear amused at Jean-Claude’s answer. Scribbles were covering up his previous words as he watched.

 

_Harry, please, I must erase this very soon. I do not have much time just now._

 

The scribbles stopped, then, _So you aren’t safe? How can you not tell me anything! I was really scared!_

 

Very angry spiders with jagged frowns and large fangs were quickly added to the scribbles above, soon being revealed as the source of those scribbles which were now apparently black spider silk. Jean-Claude smothered a laugh and traced the drawings fondly.

 

 _Perhaps we should talk tomorrow?_ Jean-Claude intended to continue, to say that he wanted to speak more in depth than the short time he had would allow, but he didn’t get the chance.

 

_NO!!! I’m Sorry!! Don’t go away again!!_

 

Oh dear, he hadn’t meant to upset the boy.

 

 _Harry, I am going to sleep. I will not have any privacy to write with you._ Jean-Claude waited for some sign that Harry understood his message, but no more scribbles or drawings appeared. _Harry? You know I wish very much to write with you, only I cannot right now._

 

 _I know_ , Harry’s words were small, and curved around on top of Jean-Claude’s arm as if he had run out of room below. _If anyone sees you writing it’ll be really bad, right?_

 

_...Yes._

 

_That’s why you never wrote for so long, isn’t it?_

 

 _...Yes._ Jean-Claude would likely always be amazed at how quickly his soulmate could grasp something without needing to be told. Though it would make keeping secrets more difficult, he found he didn’t mind the thought of Harry knowing his secrets. _I would like to make certain you are alright before I retire, Harry. I promise you I am safe though, and we can write tomorrow._

 

_I told you I’m fine! Your the one who was bleeding everywhere!_

 

 _‘You’re’_ Jean-Claude corrected quickly. _I am healing well, Harry, but I am still worried. Did your family hide you? Is that why you could not shower?_

 

_I wouldn’t’ve anyway! But, yeah, guess I missed a lot of school cause my aunt and uncle didn’t want anyone to see me_

 

Jean-Claude breathed a sigh of relief. He had never thought he would ever be grateful to Harry’s relatives for anything, let alone their proclivity toward locking his soulmate away from the world.

 

_The school was pretty upset though, they called up a lot for the first few days_

 

 _You were at school when it started?_ Jean-Claude was sure the night he was summoned was a Friday, so for Harry the marks would appear early on Saturday morning. Unless the school was finally concerned over how many days Harry was missing?

 

_No, I was at the park. Dud’s gang saw, then they told everyone on Monday!_

 

Jean-Claude frowned while Harry drew a very angry figure waving tiny circle fists. It was bad that anyone had seen, but with luck, most would assume the children were merely exaggerating whatever tales they told. Truly, the best thing Harry’s family had ever done for him was keeping him out of view during this event.

 

_I didn’t even know blood could show up as marks! My aunt screamed when she saw me_

 

Jean-Claude winced while his soulmate drew a thin figure with a Munch inspired face and jagged squiggles radiating out from it’s mouth.

 

_Not many notice blood marks now, and there is a long history of people believing such marks to be a curse, so they are not often spoken of._

 

_Yeah, it was pretty bad._

 

There was a long enough pause that Jean-Claude decided to wash everything off his arm with a wipe. He wasn’t certain if Harry truly understood just how dangerous blood marks could be, or if he understood why they were really hidden. It was probably for the best if he never understood.

 

_Harry, as overjoyed as I am to speak with you, I am afraid I will have to postpone until tomorrow._

 

_Alright. I’ll write to you then!_

 

Jean-Claude gave the words on his arm one last longing look before he raised the wet towel to erase them, but it seemed Harry wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet.

 

 _are… you really really sure you’ll be okay?_ Was timidly written out in the smallest of letters. Jean-Claude stroked a finger along them sadly.

 

 _I swear to you, this will not happen again._ Not as long as Nikolaos believed his soulmate to be dead, anyway. If the truth ever got out...well, he would have much worse to worry about than some nasty words and scratches.

 

_Okay... and you’ll really really write tomorrow?_

 

 _Yes. I promise._ Jean-Claude did have to erase their earlier writing when it occurred to him… _but not on our arms! We must continue to write only on--_

 

 _Our legs!_ Harry’s quick but messy letters interrupted where Jean-Claude had been about to write. _I’m not stupid! we have to be secret_

 

 _That’s right,_ Jean-Claude wrote instead, underneath Harry’s words. _I do not think you are stupid Harry, I only want to make sure neither of us forgets._

 

 _I understand,_ was written quickly.

 

Jean-Claude rather thought that was painfully true, and wished it wasn’t. No innocent youth would his soulmate be blessed with. Terrible family, failing to take care of him properly, and a curse for a soulmate, bringing him into a world of blood and pain. He sighed tiredly. But, at least the boy was alive. He would always be grateful for that.

 

 _Goodnight, Harry._ He finally wrote out, wanting to say more, but knowing he couldn’t risk it if he wanted this miracle to stay secret.

 

 _Goodnight Jean sleep well!_ A big, sunshine smiley face punctuated the end of Harry’s farewell. Jean-Claude let it be for a few minutes more, hoping Harry would be allowed out of wherever his relatives had locked him away soon. He was far too young to be kept away from the sun for so long. Then, with one last sigh, he wiped everything away.

 

He waited a moment more, but no more appeared on his skin, and he knew his soulmate had settled into waiting for Jean-Claude to make the first mark on their skin. So he rose and began collecting his trash. He would need to break a few pens to explain the ink on the wet towels he had used, but broken pens would emphasize his despair at losing his soulmate. He unfortunately could not keep any of the more colorful pens he had tossed for the same reason. Black ink would have to do, though he regretted more than ever that he couldn’t give Harry more.

 

The broken ink bottle and full bin could stay. The mess would do well as gossip-fodder for Nikolaos’ ears, something he’d dreaded dealing with, but now would help shield him. He snapped a few pens into pieces in the trash and let their ink spill onto the towels he’d placed below them, then looked around his office. That should do. It was time to head to the basement.

 

As Jean-Claude walked through his business, his staff gave him a wide berth. He knew he was not as crazed as mere minutes ago, but he was known for keeping his emotions better contained. The story of his mad dash for the toilets and back to his office before emerging as expressionless as always a short while later would likely amuse Nikolaos to no end. She might even leave him be for some time, to wallow in his misery.

 

It was that very thought that made it difficult for Jean-Claude to keep a blank face up until he was laying down in his coffin. Because Harry was alive, and Nikolaos didn’t know.

 

Harry was alive, and the world was a brighter, more wondrous place than Jean-Claude thought possible. He had much to plan in order to keep it so. When the sun came up that day, his body died with a smile as wide as one of his Harry's drawings.

 


	5. Letters and Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! It's finally happening! What you all have been waiting for since probably the first chapter-- I have totally lost control of Harry! He does what he wants... -_-;;
> 
> Oh, and HOGWARTS LETTERS~~ woop woop!

 

For the most part, Jean-Claude’s life did not change much after the night his soulmate ‘died.’ He had never been truly safe before that night, for none in Nikolaos’ court was, and keeping his soulmate’s _continued_ existence secret was not any different from keeping him secret in the first place. Save for one thing-- since those horrible nights of pain and darkness, both he and his Harry were dedicated to erasing every mark from each other right after seeing them.

 

No longer did Jean-Claude allow himself to keep any of Harry’s drawings, no matter how adorable they were. They also only left messages for the other on a strict schedule, and if the message was not seen by the agreed upon time and erased, the one who wrote it would erase it and try again another night. Or day, in Harry’s case. Luckily though, thanks to their time zones, catching time alone before sleeping worked out so they nearly always saw each other’s words. Only Jean-Claude had any issues, and he despised those nights where his body was not his own as he never had before, because it worried Harry now, after the punishment, and Jean-Claude wasn’t able to reassure the boy until it was over.

 

Still, this was nothing terribly new to Jean-Claude. Keeping secrets and hiding what was most precious to him was essentially his entire life. He only hated that this seemed to come so naturally to Harry as well, hated that Harry had felt unsafe to share his marks even before the punishment, and now would never feel safe again. Most of all, he hated that the event had given Harry words for what might be happening to him on the nights he told Harry not to write.

 

He worried that Harry never asked any questions about those nights, and almost wished he would so at least then Jean-Claude would know what Harry thought of him. Instead, once being assured of Jean-Claude’s well-being, Harry would pretend the silent nights and days never happened, and write his usual cheerful comments on dreams, or people, or whatever else caught his fancy.

 

After months of this, both of them seemed to relax a bit in their writing, and they settled into a comfortable routine. At least Jean-Claude hoped it was comfortable for Harry. It was difficult to tell what the boy truly felt anymore, because Harry was so determined to pretend everything was normal, even though it clearly wasn’t. But Jean-Claude had the feeling that Harry had always hidden his worries from him, or at least tried to, so perhaps that was still the same as well.

 

But then, in the middle of summer, Harry interrupted their careful routine. He stayed up late to catch Jean-Claude writing to him.

 

_Did you write me a letter?_

 

The words scrawled suddenly across Jean-Claude’s thigh, right over where he had been writing his own message. He stared at the words in surprise for a moment, then blew out a soft breath. He really shouldn't be engaging Harry now, it wasn’t safe, but….

 

_No, I don’t know your address Harry._

 

_Right, okay…_

 

Jean-Claude sighed. He supposed it was lucky he had a reputation for taking a long time dressing for the day.

 

_Harry, I do not have long, but please tell me what is going on so I can help you._

 

There was a long pause and several dots peppered the skin above his knee, then words started flowing over his leg until it was covered in a dense, looping scrawl.

 

 _Someone wrote to me! They know my name and where I sleep, it wasn’t your handwriting, but I figured I’d ask just in case, cause I don’t know anyone else who’d write to me But the Dursleys really went bonkers! I should have hidden it for later, but I was so surprised I forgotandtheySAWit, and my uncle took it away and he burneditup I think they know who it’s from, but they won’t tell me- my uncle said it was addressed to me by mistake, but it had MY cupboard on it so clearly he’s_ _LYING_ _!_

 

Jean-Claude blinked as Harry’s frantic writing covered part of his thigh, then switched over to his left leg, as if he’d run out of room. This...was a lot to take in. Certainly more than he had time for just now, and Harry wasn’t even done.

 

_My aunt thinks someone’s spying on us! Because of how the letter was addressed, and I guess they’re really scared of whoever wrote me, cause they had me move into Dudley’s second bedroom, and he fell asleep screaming, but I’m STILL in the room! It’s unbelievable! Who do you think the letter was from?_

 

Jean-Claude sat stunned at the amount of information Harry had just dropped on him. First the same mystery his young soulmate was focused on, and also…

 

_What do you mean ‘second bedroom?’ Where were you sleeping before? HOW exactly was this letter addressed? What do you mean “your cupboard?”_

 

The constant rain of dots on the side of Jean-Claude’s thigh stopped and nothing appeared for several long, awkward seconds. Jean-Claude could swear he felt Harry sweating as he tried to think of a way to avoid this unexpected interrogation.

 

 _Uh, he’s got two bedrooms? Or, well, he did. But I guess the smallest one is mine now? I donno, they might change their minds in the morning. Still, that letter was really weird you know? Do you have any ideas about it?_ Harry was clearly trying to redirect Jean-Claude away from what was probably another bad thing he didn’t want to talk about.

 

 _Where were you sleeping before?_ Jean-Claude was having none of it. He had very little time to devote to Harry right now, and while the letter was certainly important, Harry himself came first. _What made your aunt think someone is spying on you?_

 

Harry obviously didn’t want to discuss this, but he grudgingly answered, far more slowly than he’d written his original tale.

 

_The letter was addressed to my cupboard it’s where I sleep_

 

The words sat there on Jean-Claude’s leg while he stared at them and tried to make sense of them. He reached behind him and grabbed a cloth to wipe off both legs, hoping a clean slate might help.

 

 _Repeat that,_ he wrote.

 

 _It’s not a big deal,_ was written quickly next to it.

 

 _Do you really mean to tell me you slept in a cupboard all these years, and you never told me?_ Jean-Claude was fighting the urge to hiss and claw his own flesh in lieu of Harry's relatives, and just a bit as punishment for ever being selfish enough to not ask Harry more questions about his home life when he _knew_ \- knew!- that it was unhappy; to have wasted years protecting himself from the knowledge of Harry’s life while his _soulmate_ was forced to live with it-- unforgivable.

 

 _It’s a big cupboard!_ Harry tried to reason, but his writing had slowed somewhat, a good indication that Harry was carefully thinking of the right thing to say, but not necessarily the true thing. _It has a cot._

 

Jean-Claude covered his eyes and reminded himself he shouldn’t scream, because even if Harry couldn't hear him, someone would. He also needed to get out of the bathroom soon and go about his night as if everything was normal.

 

 _We will be discussing this_ _later_ _,_ he wrote quickly, even going so far as to underline ‘later’ as a dire promise that Harry would not be allowed to worm out of it. _I will try to think of a way to find out who wrote you. You are right that is sounds as if your relatives are afraid, and it is likely someone is watching you all. Be careful._

 

 _You don’t think they're dangerous, do you?_ Harry wrote hesitantly.

 

_Until we know who is writing you and why, you are not to take any chances, understand?_

 

Harry reluctantly penned _‘okay’_ then they gave their goodbyes. Jean-Claude didn’t like the feeling that he was leaving Harry alone with an unknown threat, but he didn’t have a choice. It was only a letter, ominous though it was. The boy should be fine, at least until tomorrow night, and hopefully Jean-Claude would have a plan for him by then.

 

* * *

 

Harry was waiting for him the instant he began to erase the latest message the boy had written during the day-- it seemed another letter had arrived, addressed to Harry’s new bedroom.

 

 _Who could be writing these?_ appeared and then began to melt away as Jean-Claude was mid-scrub with a soapy cloth. Harry apparently didn’t care, and continued writing as quickly as Jean-Claude washed the words off.

 

_They must really want to talk to me! and they know where I sleep- that’s weird- but if they want to talk to me, why don’t they just come see me? Do you think they’re afraid of the Dursleys too? Do you think it’s-_

 

Jean-Claude allowed the boy to chatter on their skin while he washed up. It would be easier to speak with Harry after the boy had worn himself out a bit, and since Harry had apparently been confined to one small room for the whole day, he likely had quite a lot of restless energy to vent. But then he just cut off, just as Jean-Claude rinsed away the last words, and no more appeared after them.

 

Jean-Claude frowned and raised the cloth away from him, waiting. When Harry still didn’t write anything, he got up from the edge of the tub and grabbed a towel to dry off as he strode to his clothing. He knelt naked on the tile floor and pulled out the pen hidden in his boot.

 

_Harry? Are you alright?_

 

_Yeah! I’m here! Aren't you taking a bath still?_

 

Jean-Claude blinked. His soulmate was trying to avoid talking about something again. But what could possibly have happened besides these mysterious letters? Had the boy’s relations done something else to him that Harry wished to keep secret?

 

 _I am, but I still have time for you. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?_ Jean-Claude decide to try for openness, as Harry had a habit of responding in kind.

 

_It, well… do you think the letters are from my dad’s family?_

 

Ah. Jean-Claude knew Harry had wondered about his father’s family for years, though he only told Jean-Claude about it some months ago, when he admitted to being an orphan and hoped his soulmate would still like him anyway. Jean-Claude had destroyed several of his possessions in a fit of rage that night, and he still felt something dark twist in him whenever he remembered how truly worried Harry had been, honestly thinking that being an orphan meant he didn't even _deserve_ a soulmate.

 

But after that confession, and Jean-Claude’s repeated assurances that he wouldn’t ignore him, Harry also admitted to one of his most coveted fantasies. A dream that one of his father’s relatives would find out about him and come take him away from the Dursleys. That they’d tell him all about his parents, and how they weren’t anything like the Dursleys said, and that he could live somewhere else.

 

He didn’t think Harry realized how much sharing those dreams had told him about the boy’s life with his mother’s relatives. But it hurt that he didn't believe such a dream was likely to come true.

 

 _Whoever it is, they are spying on you, but they are not trying to help you_ Jean-Claude wrote, not intending to be callous, but more worried about Harry feeling indebted to some stranger with unknown intentions.

 

Unfortunately, Harry didn’t seem to like thinking ill of the only person who had ever written a letter to him. He didn’t respond to Jean-Claude’s warning beyond a few faint squiggles tangling into a black knot on the side of his leg.

 

_I am not telling you to ignore the letters, only be careful until you find out what this person wants from you._

 

_I’m SURE the Dursleys know who it is!_

 

 _I agree_ Jean-Claude wrote before Harry could argue them both off topic, _and it is interesting how afraid they are of you reading these letters, but we still do not know_ _why_ _._

 

_They probably don’t want me to live with the Dursleys!_

 

Jean-Claude sighed. Harry wasn’t going to let go of his theory until he had proof refuting it. He could only hope that the letter writer was truly benign, because he had no hope of dissuading Harry from doing anything foolish once his mind was made up.

 

_We do not know what they want Harry. But they likely know you haven’t read the letters yet, so they will send more._

 

_Yeah! I’ll get up super early and catch the post before anyone’s awake!_

 

Jean-Claude wasn’t certain that would work. Mail wasn’t normally delivered before households woke up, was it? But it was a better idea than Harry going out and trying to find the letter writer spying on him, and it would get them more information. He was just grateful it hadn’t occurred to Harry that whoever was spying on him, was also probably nearby.

 

 _Good idea._ he wrote. Harry drew several stars and clouds, and a little figure in a proud victory pose. Jean-Claude smiled and ran his fingers over the drawing as it gained Harry’s distinctive hair, scar, and glasses.

 

His right leg was covered in ink now, so he got up and went back to sit on the edge of the tub to wash it off. While he dried it off again with the towel, he tried to think of what advice he could possibly give Harry. If he were there with Harry it would be different, but so far away and utterly powerless to help if something went wrong… He had no ideas whatsoever. Certainly he had a number of theories about who was writing the letters, but none of them were good and so were best kept to himself.

 

And of course, Harry had now fixated on his own theory about the letter writer, so most of Jean-Claude's efforts must be redirected to curbing the boy’s more reckless impulses.

 

_Be careful, even after you get the letter, don’t give your relatives any sign you have it.Wait to read it until you know they won’t see you. If it asks you to meet someone, do NOT go until we have a chance to talk._

 

 _What if it is family though?_ A frowning face floated over the words, and Jean-Claude supposed it was meant to look disapproving.

 

_Then they would have legal means to contact you. This feels too odd to be good. Please, promise you’ll write me first?_

 

 _God you’re so unfair!_ Harry drew another face with its tongue sticking out. Jean-Claude would never admit it, but he’d started rolling his eyes when Harry sent him such childish taunts. _Fine! I’ll wait till we can write back and forth, okay?_

 

 _Thank you._ Jean-Claude drew a widely smiling face, just a curved line with two dots, but Harry eagerly began adding details to it on his own. This week, it appeared Harry had decided he had long, curly hair with bangs, and….a squirrel? He suspected this was some joke which would not be explained.

 

 _Be careful, and good luck!_ _I hope you get your letter._

 

 _Thanks..I will! Be careful that is, I’ll be alright_ Harry wrote slowly. Jean-Claude knew he was drawing out their goodbyes. Neither of them liked how little time they had for each other.

 

 _Write me after your plan,_ Jean-Claude risked to write, _I will try to get some time to respond during the day._

 

During the night for him, and likely just before he returned to his coffin. Not the safest time, given how many shared the basement of his club, but he could grant himself a few minutes to finish work in his office until most had already retired. It wouldn’t be much, but even that little would mean the world to Harry.

 

 _Are you sure it’s safe?_ was Harry’s immediate response. Jean-Claude smiled sadly.

 

_I will be careful. Just like you will, deal?_

 

 _...okay Goodnight_ , Harry wrote after a long pause.

 

_Goodnight Harry._

 

Jean-Claude closed his eyes and rose to hide the pen back in his boot. He would need to wash quickly, and start his night. Harry would have only a few hours to try and sleep before attempting his plan, and then he would have to get away from his relatives before he could write to Jean-Claude. If they were lucky, Harry would be able to send a message immediately after his plan, and Jean-Claude would see it before retiring. But more likely, Harry wouldn’t be able to write until he escaped his cousin, and by then it could be several hours before Jean-Claude would wake. That much time would give Harry plenty of time to stew, and if the letter did ask to meet him somewhere….

 

Jean-Claude would just have to trust Harry. The child was not the sort to break a promise. Everything would be alright.

 

* * *

 

Harry was able to get a message to Jean-Claude, and they were even able to write a bit before he had to retire. The plan was a failure and Harry had been sent to his new bedroom for the day. Again.

 

It seemed that Harry’s uncle had had the same idea, and caught the boy long before the mail even came. Three letters were shredded and burned before his soulmate's eyes, and Jean-Claude spent their scant minutes together trying to calm the child from a petulant rage that had been building for hours.

 

What worried Jean-Claude most though, was what Harry described his uncle doing, before grounding both him _and his cousin_ , though that alone was odd. Punishing the spoiled young Dudley was simply unheard of in the Dursley household according to Harry, but then Mr. Dursley nailed the mail slot shut. It was terribly strange behavior for any sane man, and Jean-Claude began to fear that Harry might be in more danger inside the house now than out.

 

Then everything suddenly got worse, and Jean-Claude was helpless to do any more than read Harry’s increasingly confused messages. More letters arrived the next morning, forced through the cracks between the door and jamb, and under the windows. Harry’s uncle’s response was to burn them all, and barricade his family inside, nailing boards over the doors and every window. Jean-Claude was starting to think he should encourage Harry to run away, because of how worrying the situation had become.

 

But then, Harry claimed yet more letters had arrived… inside eggs the milkman gave them.

 

He didn’t want to doubt his soulmate, but he truly could not fathom how such a thing could be possible. It had to be hyperbole. Harry was a very imaginative child after all, and these letters and his relatives’ reaction to them was putting him under a great deal of stress. It was very like Harry to exaggerate something difficult out of frustration, without ever intending Jean-Claude to take him seriously. Just…he usually did so with comical drawings on the side, and thus far Harry had been writing far more than he drew.

 

Of course, it said a lot for Jean-Claude’s opinion of Harry’s relatives that he didn’t dare doubt his soulmate’s tales about _them._ Nailing boards over doors sounded like a ridiculous overreaction for any normal person, but he did not consider the Dursleys to be particularly normal people.

 

Sunday should have been a reprieve for all of them-- for Harry and Jean-Claude to collect themselves and try to come up for some plan to enact on Monday, and even for the Dursleys who were clearly disturbed whether letters were arriving by egg or not. There had been no messages from Harry throughout the day and there was no message before Jean-Claude retired for the day, so he assumed nothing had happened. Though he was a worried that Harry had not responded to his request for a discussion, he hoped it was only because it had been a normal day with no letters and no groundings.

 

He was very, very wrong.

 

According to Harry, more letters- _dozens_ of letters _-_ had come down the chimney that morning, and his uncle threw him into a wall when he tried to grab one. Then the man ripped out his mustache and ordered everyone to pack. After they broke out of the house, Dursley drove them around the whole day, without stopping for food once, until they made it to a dingy little hotel on the outskirts of a city Harry didn’t know. Harry had then stayed up until his cousin fell asleep, in order to write the whole story out for Jean-Claude to read when he could.

 

Harry was hungry and a little scared, but he seemed determined to believe the letter writer was trying to help him. He was so certain that something good would happen if he could just read one of the letters.

 

Jean-Claude, meanwhile, had gone from seriously worried to quietly terrified. As far as he could tell, Mr. Dursley was behaving like a man being chased-- irrational, and only concerned with escape. Such a man could be unpredictable when cornered, and his soulmate was trapped with him!

 

Not knowing what else he could do, he wrote words of comfort and caution. This time he advised Harry to watch his uncle discreetly, and to pay very close attention to where they were. He couldn’t outright tell the boy his uncle was dangerous. For one thing, Harry already knew that and how to be careful. For another, Harry was essentially stranded with his relatives, and if Jean-Claude made him any more afraid than he already was, he might become too nervous to act when he needed to. Jean-Claude knew there was a fine line between controlling one’s fear and being controlled by it, and he had no wish to push Harry over it by accident.

 

As it was, he was having a difficult enough time controlling his own fear for his young soulmate. It was so tempting to try and contact one of his past companions in London, and petition them to try and find the boy, or to have Harry run away and put himself in their care.

 

But as much as his fear said that Harry _had_ to get away from the Dursleys _now_ , sending him into a vampire den would not save him. If anything, it would put him in far greater danger, for being the soulmate of a vampire would make him a powerful bargaining chip, even if Jean-Claude himself was on another continent. And that was only if his own Master didn’t find out about it. If she ever learned Harry was still alive….

 

There was truly nothing he could do, and that only fed his fear more. But he had to remain calm, for Harry’s sake.

 

He drew a smiling face at the end of his message, two dots and a curved line, for Harry to add to as he wished when he woke.

 


End file.
